


The BodyGuard

by Amelita



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Bodyguard, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Possessive Behavior, Protective Asami, Singer Akihito
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelita/pseuds/Amelita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In submission, there is freedom. In domination, there is responsibility. In both, there is love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Have you ever seen a young plant grow towards the light, bending and twisting its stalk under the weight of its own desire as it _strains_ towards the warmth of the sun?

That was how it happened, like gravity falling. There was no decision or reasoning behind it. One might say it was natural, inevitable, pre-ordained or even ‘meant-to-be’.

That didn’t make what happened ‘right’, of course, Asami acknowledged that. In the eyes of societal morality, it had been wrong, on any number of levels. But no one can tell a tree how to grow. Many will grow straight and tall without any kind of guidance, but some, even under the best of circumstances, will grow… crooked.

And their relationship certainly didn’t form under the best of circumstances.

Asami was thirty four when he became Takaba’s lead bodyguard. He was an ex Special Forces operative with advanced training in everything from tactical driving to IED detection. He was old enough to have seen the very worst of mankind, he was mean as a snake, sharp as a razor and he trusted no one. Takaba was seventeen, wet behind the ears and as naive as they came. Like most seventeen year old boys, he was a mass of hormones, sexual tension, bad decisions and angst. Loads of angst. _Unlike_ most seventeen year old boys, however, he was a popstar with an annual income somewhere in the billions, hundreds of stalkers and thousands upon thousands of rabid fans; any number of which could cross the line from enthusiastic to violent at any moment. Asami had protected presidents, leaders of state, ambassadors, dignitaries and yes, even dictators, and none of those assignments had adequately prepared him for the challenge of guarding Takaba Akihito.

His days consisted of anything from escorting the young star to dinner, business meetings, music video sets, shopping excursions, awards ceremonies, concerts. Each occasion had its own set of dangers and the truth was that a day at the mall required just as much prep work as a concert hall packed with thousands of screaming fans.

It was an enormous endeavor that took an entire team of ex military men, all of which had been hand selected by Asami himself. His two right hand men were Kirishima, a specialist in crowd screening and control, who performed background checks and researched each and every person Takaba might come into contact with and Suoh, a giant whose enormous physique only supported his incredible skill in physical defense. Together they formed an enormous protective bubble around Takaba, policed by different layers of security professionals, all focusing on different things to ensure the team had complete control of the young boy’s safety.

The key, of course, was ensuring that Takaba, himself, did not realize this.

What made Asami and his team so coveted among thousands of private bodyguards  for hire was that they understood their purpose was not simply to protect their principal, but also to protect his or her freedom….. Or at least, to protect the illusion of it. The life of any public figure is that of a bird in a cage, with the public encroaching on them from all sides, watching their every move. Keeping him safe would be easy if Asami were willing to sacrifice his freedom and lock him away in an ivory tower, but that was not the purpose of a bodyguard. A bodyguard’s role is simply to protect life, not only the red, wet, pulsing heart of it, but also the intangible, ephemeral aspects of living, day to day. Asami’s goal was to allow Takaba to live his life to the fullest, to be normal in every way possible, in essence, to be free, in the way all human beings deserve.

Their job was to simple; to ward off the bullies; the greedy paparazzi, the psychotic fans, the unbalanced stalkers, and all the thousands of people who simply wanted a piece of the most famous musician in the world. And everyone wanted a piece of Takaba Akihito. It wasn’t just about his fame or money. It was easy for Asami to see how the boy had captured the world. There wasn’t a man or woman in the world immune to a sideways glance from those wide-lashed blue eyes. Takaba was beauty and innocence personified. There was nothing false or artificial about him. He was simply himself, at all times, whether out with his friends or being interviewed on TV. He was funny and irreverent, genuine and unguarded and warm and approachable. His voice was incredible, his songs and lyrics always catchy and his dancing body was practically hypnotic, but he also had that ‘something else’, that all of the truly great stars do. He had the ability to make people, near and far, feel as if they knew him, as if the songs were written about their lives and that Takaba somehow understood them in a way others didn’t. Most loved him, some hated him, but everyone knew him and everyone wanted him.

Asami included.

But the bodyguard was a professional, and he was good at compartmentalizing. His job was to protect the client, no matter whether the the client was an aging dignitary with a potbelly and the personality of drywall or a gorgeous, vibrant young boy with a smile like the sun and the most perfect ass Asami had ever seen.

His job was to be a wall; strong, protective, solid, imposing. Asami was all of those things, assisted by a large build and piercing golden eyes. He and his team were invisible, yet ever present in the corners of  Takaba’s world. In every tabloid photo of the teen, even the ones carefully cropped, an army of men dressed in black with bulging biceps stood in the foreground, between Takaba and the cameras, reminding the world that the boy was not an object available for their consumption, that he was his own. There was no celebrity in the world as well protected as Asami’s boy.

And he was Asami’s boy.

All the denial in the world hadn’t prevented the inevitable from happening, even despite the bodyguard’s best intentions.

It all started on a day like any other.

Asami had been working for Takaba for a few months, more than long enough to have proven his worth and competence. The older man waited patiently in the office Takaba had built for him in his penthouse apartment. It gave Asami somewhere to work quietly while still being on hand should the boy require his services. Takaba said it kept him from being underfoot all the time. Which was, admittedly, true.

He checked his watch again. It was nearly ten in the morning. Asami had been up since seven. For all his many fine attributes, the boy was not a morning person. Takaba was more of a night owl. Asami had simply adapted, for when the client was awake, he was awake. Fortunately, due to the popstar’s youth, he required far more sleep than Asami did, which left the bodyguard considerable time every morning to check and recheck every venue, every location, every route and every person they would encounter that day. Even before Takaba met them, Asami would know the background and personal histories of everyone from his back-up dancers to the janitor who mopped the bathroom floor. He would use that knowledge as well as body language and interpersonal cues to assess whether an approaching person was going to be a threat to Takaba. And if he determined them to be a threat, well God help them then. His golden eyes darkened in memory. Last week one of Takaba’s more frightening stalkers had sent him a message about desiring to see his ‘insides’. He had included graphic descriptions of the horrific ways he wanted to dismember the young boy. Naturally, Takaba had never seen that letter. The security team intercepted all of his mail, making sure to carefully sort the fan mail from the hatemail. Most of the latter went straight into the waste bin but those that Kirishima deemed a potential threat were reviewed by Asami personally. It hadn’t taken him long to trace the fingerprints to a mailing address that matched the zipcode the letter had been mailed from. It had been close, too close for comfort and belonged to a convicted sexual predator with a history of violent charges. None had held up in court due to the absence of bodies. That hadn’t mattered to Asami. He had tried and convicted him in the court of his mind and that was enough. Sometimes, protecting the client was about eliminating threats before they could materialize.

Strategic assassinations and body disposal were only a few of the bodyguard’s talents that he had left off on his professional resume.

Asami leaned back in his office chair and cracked his knuckles in satisfaction. His golden eyes glimmered with warmth and interest as he heard the sound of the shower running in Takaba’s bath. He would be up soon. Asami stood then and finished dressing for work. He wore black tailored slacks, shined shoes, and a tight black shirt. Leather gun holsters crossed his giant back and muscled chest. He concealed them with a deceptively tailored black suitcoat. Slicked back hair, a radio-set in his ear and a pair of ubiquitous mirrored aviators completed the look, though he slipped those in his breast pocket for now.

When Takaba emerged from his bedroom, his blond hair tousled, his pretty blue eyes sleepy, clad only in a pair of loose lounge pants, he was greeted by the sight of his bodyguard, dressed and ready for duty.

He padded down the hall as if still half asleep. A smile ghosted across his perfect pink lips as he spoke shyly, “G’morning Asami.”

Asami bowed low and kept his eyes firmly away from those perky pink nipples and the silky softness of the boy’s pale stomach. He held out a piece of paper, “Sir, your daily schedule.”

The boy squinted sleepily at it and then smiled, “Oh! I forgot about the charity concert tonight!” He rocked excitedly on his toes and then back to his heels, grinning all the while. Asami watched him fondly, wondering how many musicians got more excited about free concerts than the ones they were paid to do. Takaba’s thoughtless generosity was only one of a million reasons Asami admired and respected the talented teen.

“Shall we discuss the day while you have breakfast? I can order whatever you like.”

Takaba’s bright smile reminded Asami of the sun breaking over the horizon and it took his breath away for a moment. Takaba didn’t seem to notice. “Pancakes!” he enthused, turning on a dime and heading to the kitchen.

Asami already had his cellphone out and was dialing the caterer as he followed, “I’ll have them ordered.”

“No, I can make them! Won’t take me but a minute.” He already had a large mixing bowl out, milk and his adorable pink tongue hung out of his mouth as he began messily measuring ingredients for the batter. Asami sighed, far too professional to let an indulgent smile cross his lips, as the boy spilled sugar across the marble countertop and then licked it off his fingers. He could hire any chef in the country and yet preferred to cook for himself. Takaba was as happy with a bologna sandwich as he was with the finest beef bolognese. Utterly unspoilt.

As Takaba cooked, he listened to Asami’s recitation of his daily schedule, followed by reminders and then messages received. Most were tedious, things from his accountant, his manager, his trainer but there was one message Asami would have preferred to throw in the trash. It was from Takaba’s estranged mother. While she had been one of the primary drivers of his early career and probably the one most responsible for pushing him into the spotlight, she had also taken unscrupulous advantage of his success, spending Takaba’s money just as fast as the young boy made it. When Takaba was sixteen, at the urging of his financial advisors, he had undergone legal emancipation to protect his wealth from his mother's ‘mismanagement’ (ie. straight up appropriation) of it. Though she had still not forgiven him for it, she certainly had no problem putting her palm out. The woman’s passive-aggressive, manipulative behavior towards her son was cruel, and borderline abusive and if Asami had had his way, he would protect Takaba from her just as zealously as he did from everyone else. But she was his mother and Asami had his orders.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Your mother sends a reminder that it is her birthday next week.”

Takaba’s eyes flew up to meet Asami’s steady gaze, “What does she want?”

“I’m sure you can guess.”

The young boy’s slender shoulders slumped and his eyes fell disappointedly, “Oh.”

They were silent for a while as Takaba expertly flipped a pancake off the griddle and then poured another one. He made it in the shape of a Mickey Mouse. It reminded Asami of how very much a child Takaba still was. He worried his lip as he tried to decide what to do. Asami could see the stress building inside him and decided to cut it off at the pass, even if it meant overstepping his bounds.

Asami spoke firmly, “You’ll give her a day at her favorite spa. I’ll have it arranged. If you wish you can accompany her for lunch.”

Takaba’s eyebrows rose in surprise, "But she wants-"

Asami cut him off, “What she wants is irrelevant. More money, is the last thing that your mother needs, though I doubt she will see it that way.”

“You think?” Takaba asked uncertainly.

“You are her child Takaba. It is not your job to support her and by doing so, you deprive her of a chance to find her own independence, autonomy and purpose. Your mother needs to get a job, and a life, other than using guilt to milk money out of her son. Sometimes when you love a person, you have to make the hard decisions, when they can’t.”

The boy pressed his lips together firmly and then nodded slowly. Relief crept into his countenance though and Asami was not blind to it. Love was also protecting someone, when they were not capable of protecting themselves. The thought came to his mind before he realized and it jolted him awake. He brushed it to the side brusquely. There was nothing wrong with caring for his client. It would only make him a better protector.

Takaba smiled shyly as he nudged a plate towards Asami, “Pancake?”

Asami shook his head. His impressive physique was maintained by a strict workout routine and a regimented diet of protein, protein and more protein.

Two gorgeous pools of azure blue fixed on Asami’s face and pleaded, “Please? Just one?”

And of course, before Asami could think, because he was incapable of telling Takaba ‘No’ when the boy looked at him like that, he was nodding his head. Takaba grinned in triumph and Asami winced as he drenched the hotcake in rivulets of maple syrup before passing it to him. He beamed over his own mountain of steaming hot pancakes, “So good right?”

Asami managed a pained smile as he took a small bite of the overly sweet food, “Mmm, very good.”

“Hey maybe someday I can have my own restaurant!”

Asami froze at the horrifying thought. Any restaurant of Takabas would serve only sugar, on top of sugar, on top of more sugar. It was pretty much the only food group Takaba recognized. Which reminded him, “You have a dental appointment tomorrow.”

Takaba dropped his golden head and groaned into his breakfast. It wasn’t Asami’s job technically to make sure Takaba got to the dentist, but his vow to protect the boy was all-inclusive and one had to adapt to their circumstances. Which meant that sometimes, his job included make dental appointments, playing interference with greedy mothers and forcing himself to eat overly sweetened pancakes. He took two more tiny bites before laying down his fork with a fake, satisfied grunt, “Delicious. Thank you.”

The boy opened his mouth to protest and Asami distracted him. He tapped his watch twice, “We are going to be late to rehearsals, Sleeping Beauty, wrap it up.”

The popstar grinned cheekily, “I think they’ll wait for me.”

Asami smiled in response. He liked those rare occasions when Takaba remembered who he was and how important he was in the scheme of things. The teen dumped his dishes in the sink, rinsed them and sashayed back to his room, slender hips swaying, sleep pants clinging precariously to curvaceous hips. Asami swallowed and then turned his attention back to the job at hand. He pressed the radio in his ear with the knowledge that Suoh and Kirishima were standing by, “The client will be leaving momentarily. Have the limo ready. ETA to garage in under ten minutes.”

It was more than ten minutes because Asami took one look at Takaba’s outfit and ordered him back inside to change.

Ordered.

He had never in his life given one of his clients a direct order. He had urged them, persuaded them, made strong recommendations, but never had he ordered. In the end, a client’s life was theirs to live… and theirs to risk, if they so chose. He had been protective of all of them, but never had a client ever roused the possessive, predatory instincts that Takaba so effortlessly did.

His boy came out wearing a white singlet, with giant armholes, which exposed the fragile ladder of his ribs and when he turned to the side, the pretty pink of his nipples. The torn skinny jeans molded to every curve of his luscious ass and exposed stripes of his soft white thighs for all those greedy eyes to see. Asami wondered if everyone could see what he saw; that elusive quality in Takaba that drove him mad; how exquisitely fresh and tender the boy was, his skin so supple and smooth it looked like it might bruise under the lightest pressure, like a ripe peach. Asami knew that fine, fair skin would feel the same under his teeth. It would be taut and smooth, covered with the finest of hair and sweet on his tongue when it popped open. Takaba was so new. So fresh. He was tender, like ripe fruit ready to be picked. But he was young, too young; a forbidden fruit that had to be protected, because anyone who saw it would be driven mad with the desire to take a bite. All that fresh, creamy skin…..

“Change. Now.”

The words come from Asami’s throat, unbidden, guttural and sharp, spoken with his eyes fixed and masseters twitching.

Takaba’s eyes flew wide at Asami’s outburst and he startled for a moment, but then obeyed instantly and without a word of protest. It was unusual for him. Asami well knew that Takaba was no pushover. His stubbornness in the entertainment industry was practically legendary. It made his unexpected submission all the more surprising. Asami knew Takaba would not have submitted to just anyone….. But just like that, the boy had submitted to _him_.

And just like that, Asami was captivated. It was only the barest taste of what was to come, but like pure heroin, was more than enough to get him addicted.

-

[Inspirational Art: Bodyguard Asami and Popstar Akihito](http://amelitaray.tumblr.com/image/137249375965)

[Music: Beneath Your Beautiful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqIxCtEveG8)

 


	2. Chapter 2

The ride to the concert hall was quiet. Kirishima and Suoh rode up front, Asami and Takaba rode in the back. Asami reviewed schematics. Takaba fiddled with his new tablet. Every now and then the bodyguard felt the boy’s eyes on him, curious, questioning. Asami never looked up. Takaba said nothing about his outburst.

The limo pulled up at the back entrance and Takaba peeked out the windows. He pointed out with an almost childish excitement, “Asami check it out! Its an old church!”

That it was. With a giant steeple and a bell tower, a choir loft and multiple entrances and exits. It was a security nightmare. Asami wanted to kill whoever had booked the venue. It was a church, designed for the parishioners, clergy and choir to all interact and come and go freely. To make it completely secure, the entire thing would have to be practically rebuilt, with barricades to separate the audience from the performer. The problem of course being that any barricade tall and strong enough to be secure, would also have to be tall enough that the first several rows would have almost no view of the performer. Asami preferred concert halls with orchestra pits between the stage and the audience. He also preferred locations where the audience was easier to monitor. The church had dozens of balconies to the side and front. There was even belfry, but those would be practically right over Takaba’s head. No way was he letting anyone up there. Asami would have the stairs blocked off.

The boy’s eyes went big as he 'oohed' and 'aahed' excitedly over the gorgeous hundred year old church. Asami scowled angrily as he looked at it. Sure it was beautiful, but he was going to need at least twenty more men on crowd control as well as dozens of temporary barricades. If most venues were like trying to keep water out of a boat with a cracked hull, this was going to be like trying to keep water out of a sieve. Hard, but not impossible. Not for him.

Despite his misgivings, the corner of Asami’s mouth tugged upwards as Takaba ran forward and shouted up into the bell tower, “Hello!!!”

‘HellHellohellohellohe-’ echoed back down to his smiling face. His smile grew even more radiant as he spun around, “This is awesome! This is like the coolest place ever!”

Asami sighed and nodded but then a frown broke out across Takaba’s face, “The acoustics are amazing, but they are all wrong for the setup we’ve got planned. All wrong! Hey guys!” His voice faded as he turned and walked away towards the sound techs. Within minutes he was fully engrossed in conversation. His entire body was a part of it, from his expressive face to his hand gestures. Asami turned to Kirishima. He swore under his breath, “This place is a fucking nightmare. We need two dozen additional men and an extra hundred feet of barricades. Get on it right away, have Suoh keep eyes on Takaba at all times. Radios on. Im going to tour the facility.”

Kirishima was already dialing. He nodded as he put the phone to his ear, “Yes, sir.”

Asami turned heel. The first floor was easy. It was clear of any obstructions apart from the enormous stone pillars the supported the arched ceiling. The pulpit was about four feet off the floor at the front of the church. The second floor of the church was open except for rows of balconies that lined each side. The views from all but the very closest balconies weren’t good. Asami had to lean far out to see the whole stage. It was fine for listening to a preacher, in which case a sleepy congregation might prefer to sit out of sight of the clergyman but for a concert, these would definitely be the cheap seats. Asami didn’t like it. A person could hide out of sight, with a gun and…. The bodyguard’s jaw clenched. Any one of these balconies was a perfect sniper’s perch. No one was coming up here during the concert. No one who truly wanted the watch the concert would even want to.

Asami touched his earbud and spoke rapidly into it. There were multiple entrances and exits to the balcony seating. They would all be locked, men stationed at every access point. It would inherently block off the third floor, but still. Asami walked down to the end of the balconies. There were two doors. One swung open freely, it led back down to the floor level. The other was difficult to open, the wood wedged in the frame from years of sitting. It was obvious no one had been up there for a long time. He broke the handle trying to get it open and then simply took the hinges off.

Dust floated in the shadows as he made his way up rickety wooden stairs. This was not where the parishioners were meant to go. It lacked the beauty and polish of the previous levels. This was simply the attic. Asami turned on heel as he rotated slowly, scanning the room. There was something…. something not right about it. The dust was thick, thick enough that whoever had come before him had left footprints in it. And yet the door had been wedged shut. Sharp golden eyes quickly assessed the attic space for other access points. There were none.

Careful not to disturb the others footprints, he followed the steps to the wall. There was a loose slat in the floor. Asami slid in carefully out of place. He was looking down over the stage. He had a clear view of everything from behind. The audience, the choir loft, the entire floor. Except for the balconies, there was nothing out of view. This was the perfect sniper’s nest. And that’s exactly what it was. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck and he wheeled around. There was nothing. No one. But there had been. Someone had been here. Someone who had been smoking. He caught the briefest hint of nicotine in his nostrils as he moved.

Perhaps that was all it had been, a teen sneaking off to take a smoke break, but it didn’t feel that way, and Asami always trusted his gut. He would have Suoh patrol this room again, before the concert and post someone in front of this door during. No one would go in or out without him knowing about it. Takaba would be safe. He would make sure of it. The boy depended on him.

The bodyguard continued his tour of the building. The steps curved up and around and around until he reached a large open belfry. The bell to call parishioners into church sat long disused, but the view of the city was incredible. On the lower levels, if he leaned in the right directions, he could see the stage. This area would also be cordoned off. There was no reason for anyone to be up here while Takaba was onstage. Barriers wouldn’t be enough. They were movable, penetrable. He needed more men. Asami radioed the order to Kirishima. He moved to sit in the back row of the choir loft. The sound engineers were set up all around him, testing their equipment while one of the back tracks to one of Takaba’s most popular songs played. The dancers moved in sync with the gorgeous blond boy in the front. There were only four of them, unlike his bigger concerts where there could twenty or more dancers, but Asami recognized them as Takaba’s four favorites. There were three boys and one girl named Momohara Ai. She did all the partner dances with Takaba. Asami watched them sway together to the beat. Both were slender, blond, with big blue eyes, delicate features. They looked enough alike that one might think they were brother and sister if not for the sensuous way their legs interlocked. She was a professional dancer, had been since she was a child and even though Takaba was not, she made him look better than he was.

As the song climaxed, Takaba dipped the slender girl expertly, dropping her nearly to the floor before pulling her back, spinning, into his arms. The other three boys performed an energetic step dance behind them.

Golden eyes fixed on the boy’s face as he smiled radiantly, triumphant over his mastery of a difficult dance move. The older man's gaze locked on the sway of his hips like a bloodhound catching a scent. Even despite the somewhat more modest clothing he had changed into, the jeans he wore still molded to his bottom sinfully. Asami’s jaw flexed and unflexed as his hands did the same, imagining soft skin and plump flesh rolling beneath his fingertips. He was old enough to be the boy's father, but that did little to stop him from imagining all the filthy things he wanted to do to Takaba's perfect body and luscious mouth.

His radioset buzzed in his ear, jolting him from his lustful thoughts. It was Kirishima letting him know that he had acquired an additional seventeen security guards. Asami mentally counted all the access points. Seventeen plus the twelve he had already, plus the three of them. It was enough to cover every entrance and exit, plus to station four in the balconies, one in the belfry, one in the attic space, leaving Kirishima, Suoh and Asami to patrol the stage. Suoh would be in front of the stage, Kirishima and himself on either sides. He would never be more than four paces from Takaba’s side. Two seconds. But then, anything could happen in two seconds.

Anything at all.

Asami rolled his left shoulder in memory and felt the ache of an old bullet wound as he stood to his full height.

Takaba’s eyes caught on him like a snag in fabric and he stopped for a moment. Innocent, open blue gazed into a wall of impenetrable amber. Seconds ticked by, until one of the dancers moved in between them and they jolted apart. Takaba turned away as if it had never happened, smoothly continuing a conversation with one of the sound techs. Asami walked to the side of the stage, turned, paced it off to confirm his previous assessment of the width and then vaulted down to stand next to Kirishima.

The bespectacled man looked between Asami and the popstar before speaking low, “What was that?”

Asami jerked his head as though a fly had buzzed his ear and shook it, “Nothing of importance.”

“Hmm.”

He didn’t sound convinced. Asami looked at him sharply and his righthand man was smart enough to change the subject.

“The event starts at nine tonight. Doors open at eight for a buffet beforehand. Afterwards, to open the concert, there will be a speech by the head of the Children’s Hospital thanking Takaba and the donors. $10,000 a head, its what they are charging to get in the door.”

The bodyguard's dark brows arched in surprise. Kirishima shrugged, “Its a tax write-off. Plus, after the concert, Takaba is giving autographs and taking pictures with all the attendees. People want to see him, they want to get close to him.”

Asami knew the feeling. He nodded, “How many tickets have been sold?”

“Around a hundred and fifty. Its a small venue. But like all concerts, the names of the ticket purchasers were automatically compiled into a ledger and run against criminal databases.”

“Anything?”

“No. Nothing of note. Its all wealthy donors. I’m assuming a bunch of rich housewives and prep school brats. A few personal bodyguards requested clearance but I denied it. We handle security in the event, they can handle it outside.”

Asami grunted in agreement. The last thing they needed was a novice with a pistol and a self-inflated view of their own abilities getting excited and causing a panic. With the growth of a culture of celebrity worship, it had become less of an ugly necessity and more a status symbol to have a bodyguard. There were dozens of firms specializing in nothing more than renting out statuesque men to follow suburban housewives around while they did their shopping. There was a lot more to being a bodyguard though, than nicely filling out a three piece suit. Asami squared his broad shoulders irritably. Damn rookies were more likely to get their clients shot than keep them from being shot.

His eyes gravitated back to his own client. The boy had his head thrown back, laughing joyfully.

One might say protecting a popstar was less important, in the scheme of things, than protecting a President. Perhaps they were right. But there was no politician in the world as DESERVING of protection as Takaba was. He was innocent in the way men of power never were. There was always blood on their hands, even if it often looked only like ink on their fingers. Those who wanted to kill them often had reasons, good ones, for trying. There were some clients that Asami himself had even questioned whether he should be protecting them from the public, or handing them over.

Not Takaba. Not him. He was pure. That merited the most zealous protection. If Asami died taking a bullet for him, he would be proud to do so. Honored.

The rest of the afternoon was spent watching Takaba and his dancers rehearse. They were at it until noonish, had a break for pizza and then Takaba spent another two hours tweaking the sound to adjust to the unique acoustics of the old cathedral. Asami and his men were simply shadows in the background. Ever watchful, but ever silent.

One of the things Hollywood forgot to mention about being a bodyguard is that largely, it was incredibly boring. Most of his time was spent idle. It was a lot like being an anesthesiologist sitting in the corner of the operating room just watching the action and listening to a heartbeat. Thud-thud-thud in your ear. Deadly dull. When things went right, he was just about as useful as heart surgeon in a crematorium. Of course, in that small sliver of time, when things go wrong, there was no one more important in the room, and no one else you wanted to have at your side. When the steady walk of a thud-thud-thud turned into a pitter-patter of a run or worse, radio silence, that was when 99% of an anesthesiologist’s skills came into play. The bulk of their training was only needed 1% of the time. But in that moment, they were the only ones that mattered in the operating room at all.

The importance of listening to that heartbeat though, was paramount, like having your fingers on the pulse point. You were the first to know when things began to go wrong. Being a bodyguard, a shadow on the wall, in the back of a room, paying attention to everything, was just like that.

Which is why, incidentally, Asami was always the first to notice when Akihito yawned. When his voice cracked. When his steps stumbled.

The boy was tired. He needed to rest.

Asami stood, smoothed his suit coat and stepped out of the shadows. He walked calmly to the front of the stage and stood there expectantly with his hands folded in front of him. Takaba moved towards him like he was drawn by a magnet and then flopped down, dangling his long legs over the side of the stage.

“Whats up big guy?”

His voice sounded scratchy. Asami turned, picked up a water bottle and handed it to him. Takaba’s eyes lit up and he drank thirstily, spilling a bead of water that trickled down the column of his pale neck to rest in the hollow of his collarbone. Asami wanted to lick it off.

He looked pointedly forward, “You’re tired. You need to rest in order to be at your best for tonight. I’ll have the limo pulled around.”

He left no room for argument. It was effective. Takaba looked confused and bewildered, then nodded shyly, “Ok.”

Asami confirmed, “Ok.”

He stood with his legs braced wide as Takaba wrapped things up and then, without thinking, held up his hand to help the boy down off the stage. His skin was soft, warm and moist against Asami’s when he allowed the bodyguard to take some of his weight as he jumped down to the floor. It left an imprint on his fingers. Asami rubbed them together, savoring it, as he and Kirishima flanked the boy. Suoh followed them from behind, covering him from all angles as they crossed a narrow strip of open air and sunlight on their way to the car. Kirishima opened the door, Asami protected his back as he slipped into the limo behind him. They were in motion moments later and the bodyguard’s large body slowly uncoiled

Takaba yawned beside him and flopped down sideways on the leather. His jeans rode low, baring his back and the swell of his bottom. Asami averted his eyes to the street.

The boy yawned once and then again and his eyelids drifted closed as he murmured, “You were right, I am tired. You’re always right. Why is that?”

“Because I pay attention to you.”

The last two words were unintentional. He hadn’t meant to say them. He swallowed hard, as if trying to swallow them back, but it was too late.

Takaba smiled sleepily, “Thank you Asami.”

The professional response would have been to say, ‘Its my job,’ but that would have erected a barrier between them and reminded Takaba of the inherent wall between an employer and an employee. Asami was an expert at erecting walls. But in this case, with this boy, he wanted them around him, but not between them. Yes, all around Takaba, high, safe, impenetrable, keeping him in and everyone else out.... Everyone, except Asami.

So the bodyguard swallowed the safe response and said instead, the truth.

“Its my pleasure.”

-

[Satellite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_zY_jSVXSU)


	3. Chapter 3

Asami allowed Kirishima and Suoh to handle the briefing of the other security guards. He made sure they understood the liability of the second floor, attic space and belfry. All access points had to be secure.

Asami stayed with Takaba, watching over him as he slept. Not literally, as much as he would have enjoyed it, but figuratively, from his office. Takaba had approved security cameras to be installed everywhere but his bedroom. So all Asami could do was watching the empty security feeds and imagine Takaba stripped down to his tight little boxers, his lithe body spread out on the bed, limp, helpless, sleeping. Hnnh. Asami palmed the growing bulge in his suitpants and stood.

He worked out then, sweated out his stress and his lust, and was almost feeling mellow when Takaba finally emerged around seven.

The boy stretched languidly, arched his back and clapped his hands, “I am so pumped! This is going to be so much fun!”

Asami smiled at his enthusiasm even as he felt his vessels constrict with the tension of war. And it was war; him versus the World. His guns were oiled and loaded, resting heavy at his sides under his uniform. The three piece suits were certainly more stylish than military fatigues but they served the same purpose; to help him blend in. He wore black to blend into the shadows. Takaba wore white to stand out. His golden hair gleamed like a halo as the night around them exploded in a firework of flashbulbs, with the paparazzi screaming questions and the fans just plain screaming.

“Aki-chan! Aki-chan!!!”

Asami’s eyes narrowed at the overly familiar way they chanted Takaba’s name, like they thought they knew him, but no one could see the anger behind his mirrored shades. Mirrored, but not tinted, the shades he wore weren’t sunglasses. They were tools to prevent hostiles from knowing where he was looking and served to give him the upper hand. Sometimes an extra second or two meant everything.

Takaba, to his credit, smiled and waved cheerfully. There was a bit of a tenseness to his smile though, that only one who spent his life watching him would pick up on. It was too loud out here. Too much. He needed to get the boy out of this clusterfuck and into the safety of the cathedral. He spoke low into his headset and then he and his men then pulled the noose tight, closing Takaba in, protecting him from the crowd, thwarting the paparazzi and herding him into back of the church. Asami pulled the door closed behind them and locked it.

It was quiet in there and the boy visibly relaxed the moment he saw his crew waiting for him; his dancers, his audio techs, his friends Kou and Takato. Suddenly the young boy was gone and the popstar was ready to perform. A few last minute checks and he was on his way. His lean legs pumped him up the steps and onto the stage, followed by his crew.

“Hello everybody! You ready to hear some music?!!!”

The crowd screamed and Takaba held the mic out to let them pick the songs. It was a trick he did on smaller venues, not quite honest, but not really a lie either. They already had the set picked out but inevitably, the someone in the crowd would scream out the next song and Takaba would go with it like the audience was the one picking the music. It was a game they played and it made the smaller concerts feel even that much more intimate. It was smart. He was a good entertainer.

Asami stood in the shadows at the side of the stage. Kirishima stood on the other side. Suoh was at the front. Asami was closest.

He was always closest.

The truth was, as much as he trusted the other bodyguards, he didn’t fully trust anyone who wasn’t himself. In the end, human beings were animals and the purest, most base desire of every animal was to live. When it came down to it, Asami didn’t trust anyone to run into the line of fire instead of away.

He didn’t trust anyone else to be as careful as he was with his boy and he certainly didn’t trust anyone else to take a bullet for him.

So he stood in the shadows, just four paces away, and he watched, and he waited, in case Takaba needed him.

The music was loud and pulsing. Takaba’s voice was powerful, beautiful and it washed over them all like pure, ocean waves. He was one of very few singers that sounded just as good live as he did on a record. The audience screamed and reached for him, but they couldn't get to him. They couldn’t touch him. Asami had made sure of that. Asami decided who touched him and who didn’t.

Behind mirrored lenses he watched them. He saw faces of pain and joy and ecstasy, but what he was looking for was anger. He saw none of that. He could see the security forces moving in the the dark shadows of the balconies. He knew them by the bright yellow lettering on their shirts. Unlike himself, they weren’t meant to blend in. They were meant to stand out and remind unruly crowds to play nice. His mind drifted back to the attic space and the scent of nicotine and the loose panel. It would have been back behind them a bit, just overhead. The bodyguard’s eyes drifted behind mirrored lenses and he had to shift slightly to see, but there it was; a dark patch in the ceiling where a board should have been, but wasn’t.

Asami frowned in concentration, he had put the slat back in position, hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember. It certainly wasn’t there now.

There was something else there now. Something that glittered. Something that reflected light. Something metallic.

Like the barrel of a gun.

Asami was moving well before the shots were fired.

Bullets sprayed across the stage, striking the dancers. Their screams were loud, but then so was the music.

The large bodyguard hit Takaba with all the force of a linebacker taking down a running back.

He knocked the breath out of him, caring nothing about his comfort and everything about his survival. They fell through the air with Asami twisting to end up with the boy’s body pinned beneath him and the floor. Takaba’s eyes were wide with shock as he gasped painfully from being hit by Asami’s body but then more air was stolen from him by the impact of the bullets hitting Asami’s back. They felt them in tandem, their bodies so close as to be one as the impact of the repeated shots jarred them. THUD-THUD-THUD. Asami grunted in pain with each shot as he tucked his head and pressed Takaba beneath him, encasing him fully with his own large frame.

It was like being beaten with a baseball bat swung at full speed at his ribs. The Kevlar body armor he was wearing prevented the bullets from penetrating by dissipating the force over a larger area, but every bit of their momentum was still absorbed by Asami’s bones. He could feel his ribs crack from the force and the pain was like fire, but his brain filed it away as information to be reviewed later when the epinephrine wore off.

Now, the only thing Asami was focused on was getting Takaba to safety. Keeping his much larger torso between the tiny blond and the shooter, he hauled the boy up into his arms and ran forward in a full sprint towards the cover of the stairs. He was vaguely aware of screaming and additional shots being fired.

The wet sound of some of those shots connecting with human flesh.

A woman’s muffled cry of pain.

The smell of gunpowder.

Blood spraying as bodies fell.

But it was all overridden by the feeling of Takaba trembling in his arms. Swinging down into the safety of the dark stairwell, he placed him on the ground. Takaba’s face was pale. There were streaks of blood on his cheek. Asami frantically felt his face, his forehead, pulling his hair forward and checking the back of his skull, his temples, his neck. Takaba let Asami pull and jerk on him like a doll, squeezing his arms and legs and yanking his shirt off to make sure the blood that covered him was not his. Takaba was fine. He was unhurt. He was bruised and shaken, but he hadn’t been hit by a single bullet. He was alive.

Takaba was panting, his chest heaving as his teeth juddered inside his skull, “As-Asami. Momo. Momo. She-” His voice broke and Asami suddenly realized whose blood covered the boy’s delicate features. He held him close, pressing the boy’s face into his shoulder and rocking him slowly, “I know. I know. I know. Just breathe.”

He barked into his headset, “Kirishima! Suoh! Report!”

“Suspect surrounded. Cornered. Preparing to apprehend.”

Asami’s teeth ground, “No.”

Kirishima sounded confused, “No?”

“No trial. No circus. End it.”

His subordinate understood the hidden order instantly, “Yes sir.”

Asami held the boy in his arms as he waited for his orders to be carried out. This was war. There were no trials in war. No interviews, no press, no curious spectators turning violence into a sport and reporters trying to dissect whatever hate-filled reason the man had for opening fire in a crowded concert hall. If the shooter was arrested, the trial would consist of months of Takaba being forced to relive the terror of this night over and over. No. It would be an easy, simple thing for Kirishima to say that the shooter pointed his gun at him.

Easy to pull the trigger and end it here and now. To do his job and in war, the job didn’t end until the bad guys were dead. He never understood the concept of letting the villain see another day. He never respected so-called heros who let their enemies walk away in handcuffs. Evil was never defeated until its blood was wiped from the face of the earth.

The bodyguard buried his nose in soft blond hair. It smelled like mint. He had to take slow, shallow breaths. His ribs were on fire. He ignored it. Takaba was beginning to hyperventilate. His trembling was increasing. He was going into shock. Asami tipped his head back and forced Takaba to make eye contact with him. His large hands cupped his cheeks and his fingers dug into the back of his skull as he held his head in his hands. Blue eyes were filled with tears, glimmering in the low light like diamonds as they shuddered and began to roll down his white cheeks. Takaba clutched as him, wanting comfort and softness from Asami.

But Takaba _was_ softness.

He was soft and sweet and kind and gentle. He was like a kitten that rolled to show you its soft little belly without any concept of the harm you could do to it should you so chose. No, what Takaba needed was not more softness to wrap around his own. What Takaba needed was hardness to push against, something to shield and protect him. He needed steel and stone.

Asami gritted his teeth as the boy choked and sobbed, barely able to breathe for his shock and grief. “Stop crying,” the bodyguard growled angrily.

The boy jolted, his wet lashes flew wide and he immediately stopped breathing. His eyes fluttered as he struggled to gain control of himself. His chest rippled but failed to take in air.

“Breathe,” Asami ordered.

Takaba’s body shuddered and then did as Asami bid it. He took one deep breath, but then stopped with it inside him.

“You are going to take deep breaths, one after another, and then you are going to stand up. Do you understand me?”

His tone was harsh and left no room for argument. Takaba’s head jerked in the pantomime of a nod as he obeyed. He began to breath again, slow and steady, his eyes never drifting from Asami’s face as he searched for confirmation that he was doing well. He stood then, when Asami’s help and on his order, put one foot in front of the other. He was like a puppet, with Asami pulling the strings.

Asami led him to the exit, but before leading him outside, he took the boy’s face and wiped every trace of a tear off of it. He’d be damned if tomorrow’s headline featured a picture of Takaba’s shattered expression, his face covered with tears.

“Clench your jaw,” he ordered him and Takaba immediately did as he asked.

“Brows down.”

The boy immediately frowned. Now his face look hard, angry, determined and unbeaten. Yes, Asami thought in satisfaction, thats it.

He threw his suitcoat over the boy’s head as added precaution then opened the door, to the bright flaring lights of cameras and photographers screaming for answers. Like sharks, they smelled blood in the water and knew a story was close at hand.

His arm tucked solidly around Takaba’s back, his coat thrown over the boy’s head, the giant bodyguard pressed them both out into the night. His free hand he kept outstretched to push the photographers and reporters out of his path. One overly exuberant paparazzi rushed in front of them, his camera angled up so that he could flash the bulb right in Takaba’s face. All he caught was Asami’s massive fist as it moved to grab his camera and crush it into pieces. Asami shoved his mangled camera back in his face as they brushed past and Asami pushed Takaba’s head down into the limo. It was doubtful any of the photographers had caught a glimpse of his face from the way Asami had bundled him up and rushed past, but even if they had, Takaba still held the stony expression Asami had ordered him to.

“Good boy,” he praised as the limo began to roll and Takaba’s mask finally broke. His face crumpled then and he gasped as he threw himself into Asami’s chest. The big man was uncomfortable but he did not push him away. His arm closed about the boy’s slender shoulders, wrapping about his trembling body as a reminder of the hardness that stood between him and the world. Asami was there and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“W-why? Why? Who would- I don’t understand, why?”

Asami looked down at him dispassionately, “There is no reason. Birds fly, fish swim, rabid dogs bite. Killers kill. There doesn’t have to be a reason.”

“But it goes against, everything… to kill innocent people…”

“Animals get sick Takaba, in their minds and bodies. Human beings are just animals in the end. Sometimes, like rabid dogs, they need to be put down, for the good of everyone else. He’s been put down, you don’t need to think about him anymore.”

“How, do you know that?”

The boy’s eyes were wide, the irises dark, the whites shiny as Asami looked calmly down into them, “I just do.”

He didn’t elaborate and Takaba didn’t press. He answered phone call after phone call from his men as they cleaned up the mess and handled the police. The investigators wanted to speak with Takaba himself, but Asami was having none of it. They said nothing more until Takaba was tucked safely away in the penthouse. Asami took him to the bedroom and sat him down on the bed. He shrugged off his suitcoat, but left his shoulder holsters on. His guns gleamed in the low lights. Takaba stared at him, desolately hopeful, as if unsure whether Asami himself was a savior or a killer.

Asami left him sitting there. He moved to his office and pulled a bottle of whiskey from the lower drawer along with two shot glasses. When he returned, Takaba was just as he had left him, siting like a doll with the strings cut.

The older man poured two fingers full of whiskey into the glasses, he handed one to Takaba.

“Drink it.”

The boy protested then. He hated hard liquor. Asami didn’t particularly care.

“No, I don’t want it-”

“Drink it.”

Takaba hesitated for but a moment and then tossed the shot back. Asami watched as his pale throat struggled with the fiery liquid. The boy gasped then, holding trembling fingers to his mouth as the empty glass rattled in his other hand. Asami replaced it with the second shot glass.

“Another,” Asami ordered.

The boy did as he was told. The second shot seemed a bit easier. Takaba clutched at his belly when it was done. Asami knew it ached and burned with the whiskey inside. It would soon fade and be replaced by soothing, sleepy numbness.

“Take your clothes off Takaba.”

The boy stood then. He removed his jewelry first, the necklace with a metal cross heated from his skin. He laid it by his bedside table, shrugged off his shirt, his pants and then his boxers, without a thought. His backside was a pale, perfect heart, the skin above and below tanned. He turned and the bodyguard could see his cock, small, flaccid and pink between soft white thighs. He looked at Asami, unconscious of his own naked beauty as he waited to be told what to do. Asami cleared his throat, “Get in bed.”

The boy did as he was bid. Asami moved to loom over him. He fixed his intense, amber eyes on the boy, “You will to go to sleep now. You won’t wake. You won’t have nightmares.”

He would be obeyed, he would stay to make sure. He flicked the light off, plunging the room into darkness before the Takaba could say a word. He settled himself across the room in a large leather armchair with a table set before it. He tapped out a cigarette, lit the end, and took a long inhale, before a slow exhale. His ribcage burned as he removed his Kevlar vest. The porcelain plates were broken and it was possible that some of his ribs were too. They burned like fire with every breath, but Asami knew there was nothing for it but time. He could sense the boy’s silent confusion. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Y-you aren’t leaving?”

“No.”

“You’ll stay? All night?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“Never.”

On that, the boy was silenced. Asami settled his cigarette between his lips and removed both guns from his shoulder holsters, the one from his back, the one from his ankle. Confident of his weapons, even in the dark, he cleared the chambers and took them apart. He cleaned and oiled them gently, lovingly, as a Master cares for the things he values most.

Asami’s presence was heavy and enormous and comforting, he kept the room too full for demons to enter. Takaba fell asleep with the soothing scent of Dunhills in his nose, and the sound of metal sliding past metal; the bodyguard's lullaby.

-

Need more? There's a LOT more! Come check out my Facebook and Tumblr pages if you want to know more about me and my writing!  
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